Page 107 of No Promises, No Lies

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, content for once in my life.

Since the Breakers are away, the friends and family section for the team is much smaller than it would be if we were back in Boston. And it’s within the actual stands, with no extra security for protection.

I stick with the team right up until their final pre-game walk through the tunnel. I wait outside the locker room until the Breakers emerge, led by their starting goalie West Cavanaugh. West holds up his glove to fist bump me as he passes. Caught off guard, I scramble to raise my fist in time. And then, one by one, the rest of the team does the same until I spot Aidan, bringing up the rear, trailed only by the coaching and athletic staff.

Unlike the rest of the team, Aidan stops when he reaches me, an uneasy expression on his face, his attention all over the chaotic underbelly of the arena. He’s distracted.

Reaching up, I grab hold of his helmet and tug his face down to mine.

“Go,” I urge, staring into those deep emerald pools, “I’ll be fine. Focus on the game and go kick some Canadian ass.”

“Stay in your seat. Don’t leave for any reason. I’ll send someone to escort you back to the locker room after the game.”

I smile, “Code word: Offsides.”

His eyes flash and the way his jaw works sends a little thrill through me.“Savethatword for after the game.”There is still a little uncertainty in his eyes as he backs reluctantly away, keeping his eyes on me until the very last second, as he turns to head up the tunnel.

Letting out a deep breath, I pull off the thick sweatshirt I have on, hiding the #19 O’Rourke jersey I wear proudly—the one that caused a fight between Aidan and me on the plane. Hethought it was too risky for me to wear his number here. Not only are we in Toronto territory, but it makes me stand out like a sore thumb to any Russians or Italians looking.

Not going to lie, part of me wants to wear the jersey to support Aidan and the Breakers, but the other half only wants to wear it because he told me not to.

All the bravado in the world still doesn’t hide the fact I’m nervous. I take the stairs two at a time to reach the general concourse, eager to get to my seat, knowing Aidan will be distracted for a fair bit of the game trying to keep an eye on me.With everything going on back in Boston, Koen couldn’t spare another guy to fly up with Liam and Aidan. With both of them gone, he was already down his two best men.

For the Breakers, it’s all hands on deck tonight since Colt King won’t be on the ice. He’s been out of practice all week, following a nasty knee injury in the last game.

The Toronto fans are already eager for a fight when both teams take the ice. I have to push through the thick, boisterous crowd on my way to my seat, ignoring a few whistles and catcalls, trolling me for my jersey. The white and green away colors stick out amongst a sea of crimson red.

It’s a relief when I finally find my section and collapse into my seat. Aside from an older couple a few rows up, I’m alone. My eyes scan the busy rink full of players to findmyplayer.

He finds me first. It’s easy to spot the only hockey player staring right at me. I wave, grinning when our eyes meet, making a circle motion with my fingers trying to redirect him to focus on his warmups.

Aidan lifts his stick to me and then turns around, soaring around the arena to pick up one of the practice pucks, and sinking it with brutal force into the empty net.

The horn sounds and the teams circle off. The Zamboni comes out to clear the ice one last time before puck drop.

I don’t notice the guy until he crashes into the seat next to mine, spilling a bit of his beer on me.

“Hey!” I jump up and instantly cringe at the telltale rosy cheeks and glazed-over eyes on the frat boy who’s slid his ass into the seat directly to the right of mine. He takes a long swig of his beer, draining it nearly half way—though he’s likely already quite a few beers deep.

“My apologies, gorgeous,” Blondie tries.

I stare hard at the ice, sinking back into my seat. Aidan’s focus is still on the game, in the middle of a crucial Breakers power play after Toronto came out swinging. Rolling my eyes, I sit back in my seat, hoping if I ignore him—maybe he’ll take a hint.

But Blondie persists, leaning in closer, the scent of stale beer and cigarettes filling my nose, “You here all alone?” His words slur slightly as he scans the empty row beside me.

I could tell him no, but it’ll be obvious in a few minutes when no one else shows up. My eyes flicker between the drunk frat boy and the ice—the last thing I need is for Aidan to notice this exchange.

The Breakers vs Thunderhawks is set to be a great game and it’s sold out. Deciding to take my chances seat hopping, I move to get out of my seat. I’m barely out of it when sweaty fingers grip my wrist, yanking me back down.

“Don’t go,” Blondie whines, close enough so I can smell the alcohol on his breath, “we only just met.”

I open my mouth, half-prepared to claw this goof’s eyes out when a heavy arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me away from frat-boy. My attention snaps to the left, finding the seat to my left is also no longer empty.

“Back off, asshole.” The deep voice beside me is both familiar and not, with a dangerous edge to it that means business.

Blondie, with my wrist still trapped in his grip, blinks a few times before finally releasing it. I rip it back from him with a glare, sending myself further into the chest of the guy whose arm is still draped around me.

I turn my head, needing to tilt my chin to make out the face of the newcomer.

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